A Letter

Everyone else at the tree lot is searching for the “perfect” Christmas tree. A man holds a seven foot tree upright so his wife can pass judgement on its shape. A family debates whether or not the tree they like best will actually fit in their living room.
But I’m on a search for the tree no one else wants. A task that has become more difficult since Christmas trees are now raised on “farms” and only the trees with that classic cone shape make it to market.
At the end of a long row sits a smallish tree, trunk a little crooked, and branches that don’t conform to popular tastes – just the one I was looking for.
At home I put my little tree into the holder and make it as straight as possible. Then I find the worn cardboard box hidden behind the well organized plastic bins of ornaments. Inside are the tattered homemade decorations from my childhood. I string lights and paper chains on the tree and lovingly place each one. With the only the tree lights glowing, I close my eyes and take a step back in time, composing a love letter to my lost youth.

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